


Commonwealth Blues

by JulietHasAGun



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-30
Updated: 2016-02-22
Packaged: 2018-05-10 10:19:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5581954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JulietHasAGun/pseuds/JulietHasAGun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Sole Survivor is a freelance private investigator, working alongside characters such as Deacon and Nick Valentine, to bring truth and justice to a corrupt city. Along the way she meets the very people who have become urban legends around the Commonwealth, who start to band together to take on a much bigger threat than any of them thought existed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hot Scoop

"Sis, get to bed- it's two in the morning." Piper barely registered the words spoken by her little sister, Nat. She had been plucking away at her computer since she got home. Too much information to exorcise from her fingertips, and too little time. Her mug of coffee, her fourth cup today, had long since run cold and empty; yet she found herself reaching for it instinctively, her brain too absorbed in other, more important things. 

"Says the gremlin who's ALSO up at two in the morning." Piper chuckled, wheeling her chair around to face the young girl.

Nat rubbed her eyes. "Couldn't sleep;" She slurred, obviously loopy from exhaustion. "'N don't call me a gremlin."

"Okay, okay," Piper softened, beckoning the young girl over to her. "Tell me what's the matter kiddo." 

Her sister shuffled over to her without hesitation, pulling herself up into her older sister's lap, the cheap swivel chair giving a whine under the weight. The smaller girl curled up into a ball, head resting in the crook of Piper's neck.

"I've been thinking about dad." 

The sentence came like a punch to the throat, but she had gotten used to it. After what happened to their father, it was like a dead horse, constantly hanging over their lives; rotting and decaying but never going away. It had been years ago, sure; but Piper could still hear people whisper about it whenever she walked into a room- she was sure the same thing happened to Nat, too. She brushed her younger sisters hair back gently with her hand, kissing her temple. 

"Me too, Nit-nat." She said soothingly. She knew her sister hated all the bizarre nicknames she gave her, but she ALSO knew that the younger girl found them endearing, so she continued; despite all protests. "Anything I can do to make it any better?" 

Nat paused, as if contemplating her answer. "Promise me you won't leave, like he did." 

She left the word 'leave' so open, she couldn't tell exactly what she meant, but she had an idea. The flat tone of her voice left Piper hollow, and she could feel her grip on Nat tighten slightly.

"I'm never leaving you, kiddo. Never. Scout's honor." She rubbed her hand against Nat's shoulder. 

This answer seemed to soothe the her, albeit slightly. 

"Now," Piper continued. "Get your skinny butt to bed." She patted Nat's back, trying to entice her off her lap.

"Only if you promise to turn off the computer and get some sleep." Nat didn't budge; she was her little sister, after all.

"I will, I will;" Piper put her hands up placatingly. "I'm surprised. Never figured you'd be one to hate the news, Nat."

The younger girl had begun wiggling off her lap. "Don't give me that. You fell asleep standing up on the bus yesterday. Nick told me about it."

' _Nick..._ ' Piper grumbled. He was such a dad, sometimes. Though Piper supposed it was nice to have someone looking out for her.

"Well, fine. You and Nick win. I'll go to sleep. Just let me change. I really don't want to sleep in these jeans." Nat sprung off her lap, and Piper stood up, making sure to save her draft before closing her laptop. 

"Yeah. They smell bad enough already." She could hear Nat giggle.

"You little stinker-" Piper smirked, lunging for her, fingers outstretched like claws. "I'm gonna get'cha!"

Nat giggled, shrieking through the apartment, running away back to the safety of her room and slamming the door before the 'tickle monster' could get its poorly manicured hands on her. Once the door shut, Piper straightened up and sighed. She was a good kid. She deserved so much more than what she could offer; with her shitty one bedroom studio in the middle of what had to be one of the worst neighborhoods in Boston. 

' _Better not think about it now,_ ' She thought to herself. ' _Or I'll be wrestling with 'ifs' and 'buts' all night._ ' She wheeled around to the bathroom, sloughing off most of her crummy makeup from the day. Well, technically she'd been wearing the same makeup for the past two days, but no one really needed to know that. She tied her hair up into a ponytail, absentmindedly brushing her teeth as she realized she had to meet Nick at seven AM sharp tomorrow. She groaned into her worn in toothbrush; she had an awful habit of stress chewing them, which meant she went through quite a few every couple of months. She used to hope he would be late, too, so he couldn't chastise her. But that man operated like clockwork. When he set a time, he meant it. She flicked off the bathroom light, walking back into her living room-slash-office-slash-bedroom; like her, the room multitasked. She peeled her grimy clothes off, having sweated through them at least twice over. She needed to put away some time to actually do laundry, this week. Nat had to do it last time and she had felt terrible. She rummaged through her drawers for a pair of pajama pants and a 'Boston Red Socks' shirt her father had gotten her before he died. The one and only baseball game they ever went to together. It didn't fit her, anymore; but she usually wore it to bed. She slipped the shirt on over her head, and pulled the worn in pajama pants up to her hips before crawling into her beaten in mattress. Her phone was on her 'nightstand'; basically just a bunch of piled up notebooks, textbooks and old newspapers, so she would be sure if anyone needed her in the wee hours of the morning, which was unfortunately a common occurrence, she could answer them. She didn't realize how tired she was until her head hit the pillow. She didn't even have the energy to pull the covers over her body; she just reached up with one, exhausted arm and flicked the lightswitch off. 

Usually, she could hear teenagers with their stereos blasting galavanting down the street like party animals, or the sound of renegade police sirens. The sounds of the Boston Commonwealth that sang her to sleep. But tonight it was quiet; she didn't exactly mind it. She wondered aimlessly whether those party hard teenagers were tucked in with their parents for the night; or if those Boston City PD pigs had figured out a better hobby than harassing the weak. Her mind sank into semi consciousness, the level that separated sleep from the waking world. She thought of Nat and her father, swimming in pastel colors skittering through the wind; waving at her as she was falling, softly, like a petal in the breeze- 

Her door crashed open, brutally rattling against the wall; the sound of boots stomping on cheap wooden flooring. Her brain struggled on the transition from semi-consciousness to bullet time. She pushed herself up from her bed, looking back at what had to be three fully armed police officers, dressed in their Boston blues.

"Piper Wright." One of them said in a voice meant to be domineering; as another yanked her up from her bed. 

"What-" Was all she could get out before she was flung against a wall. "Shit!" She cursed, her brain bouncing around in her skull from the impact.

"You're under arrest. Don't try to resist." The voice was calm, like a cyborg. These fucks had no emotion at all. No conscience, Piper had decided. The police officer who was strong arming her slammed her face down on her desk; causing her to bite her cheek. 

"Piper!?" The cry was small, terrified, and it belonged to Nat. Piper fought to turn her head to look at the doorway to her sister's room. There she was. Tiny and scared.

"It's gonna be okay Nat- don't be scared, it's gonnaAHGH." The officer cuffing her was about to break her damn wrists.

"Stop resisting." He said flatly, pushing her harder down against the desk. 

"Let go of my SISTER, YOU _ASSBAGS_!" Nat lunged at the officer holding her, Piper shouted, shrieked at her to stop. 'Go back to your room' she wanted to say. She didn't have enough time to talk her sister out of it. She was tiny, and scared, and full of the kind of rage only a girl barely into the double digits could have. She could tell the officer who had just finished cuffing her was ready to backhand her across the room the moment she laid a finger on him. Her brain went into bullet time, full on 'Matrix' slow mo. She was horrified; this couldn't be happening, this was just a bad dream- it was just a bad dream. 

But before Nat could make contact with the officer, a third one scooped her up. 

"Easy, there." His voice was deep, commanding, but it wasn't mechanical or emotionless like the first two. He didn't grab her with rough force, he scooped her up like she was a child who couldn't swim and was getting too close to the pool. "We're not going to hurt your sister." He was trying to comfort her, on one knee, trying to look her in the eye. She only looked at him with rage.

"You guys are hurting her right now, ASSHOLE!" She kicked his shin, but he barely reacted, picking her up and pinning her arms to her sides as she kicked and screamed.

The officer detaining her slammed her against another wall like a rag doll. 

"Stop resisting." He repeated, like a broken record. Normally, she'd take it. It was better to not give them any 'injuries' to complain about; to use them as evidence to say she had attacked them. But they had her sister; her frigging sister. They weren't about to drag her family into this. 

"I'm not _FRICKING RESISTING_ , SHITDICK." She flung herself backwards against the man, and rabbit kicked the cop in the doorway. She thrashed and shrieked, swinging her feet back at the cop, her heels slamming against his shins. " _LET GO OF MY FUCKING SISTER_ -" She usually didn't drop f-bombs unless it was something serious, but this shit was kicking into overdrive. 

"Get her out of here-" The cop who she had just kicked through a doorway grimaced. "The Mayor better do something about this one," He started as the cop pulled her through the doorway. "I'm getting sick of having to drag her in. Better lock her up for a couple years, maybe THAT'll teach her to be better behaved." The two of them were cackling, all she could see were two bloated witches stirring a stew made of babies and small children. 

"Danse!" Their de facto 'leader' shouted. "Get rid of the mouthy brat, we're heading out." 

"Yes, sir." The man had been allowing Nat to thrash and kick him for the better part of the altercation; but the words 'get rid of' turned Piper's stomach. As they dragged her out to the squad car, Piper couldn't help but scream. She hoped somewhere, somehow, Nick or even Hancock could hear her and make sure they hadn't deposited her sister in a dumpster somewhere. They flung her into the back of the squadcar, and she struggled to right herself to look at the door to her apartment complex; waiting for the third cop to come out, praying he didn't have blood on his hands. It was barely even a minute before the third officer, 'Danse' whisked out of the doorway. He looked clean, for the most part; but he was cradling his hand for some reason. The two other officers currently occupied the front seat, which meant 'Danse' was going to have to ride in the back. With her. Great. 

Sure enough, he swooped in, planting himself in the seat next to her. Piper wanted to headbutt his fucking teeth in and demand to know what he did to Nat. 

"Have fun wrangling that kid, Danse?" The man in the passenger seat cackled as the driver quickly pulled out and away; starting for what she assumed was the Boston lockup. 

"No." Came his humorless response. 

"What'd you do to my sister, jackoff." Piper snarled, looking over at him. He turned to her, eyes wide and blinking.

"I- put her in her room?" He answered her like it was obvious, like he was incapable of doing anything else. "She kept trying to claw my eyes out. I thought I had finally gotten her to settle down when she-" He kept massaging the meat of his hand as he looked sideways at her. "Bit me." 

Piper looked at him like he was nuts. Was he really expecting her to feel bad for him when they violently dragged her out of her bed and arrested her in front of her little sister at two in the fucking morning? She leaned towards him, eyes wide, mouth forming a snarl. 

"Boo frigging hoo, Sergeant Shitdick." Her rage must have been hilarious to the two bozos up front; because they didn't stop laughing the entire way to the station.

\--  
Piper sat on the bench in the lockup. Cross legged, tired and pissed. She wanted to scream. She wanted to rattle the bars of the cell just to piss off one of those idiots and wrinkle their stupid uniforms when she snatched their stupid badges off their stupid pockets. She wanted to cry. But damnit, she couldn't, she couldn't let them see her cry. Not now. Not ever. She wasn't even going to sleep on their watch. She didn't trust their grimy faces, their sweaty smiles, their grabby little hands- 

But shit she was tired. 

She felt herself wavering in her seat. Swaying from the left, to the right, to the left again- like an elderly man sitting in a canoe. She could barely make out the usual din of footsteps, ringing phones, and fake laughter that the Boston PD was known for. She sure as hell didn't make out the sound of the door to the lockup slamming, and the sound of jingling keys.

"It's your lucky day, Piper; again." It was Teagan. He was in charge of the lockup. Usually it was just drunks and teenagers caught out too late- but she'd been stuck in the cell so many times they had renamed it 'The Piper Suite'. "Someone's come to spring ya." She looked up, and there, in all his film noir glory, stood Nick Valentine. 

"Well, if it ain't the Million Dollar Man." Piper grinned, earning a small chortle from the man in question. He was clad in his usual trench coat-fedora combo, and looked like he had leapt straight off a poster for 'Casablanca'. 

"And if it ain't Boston's favorite Hot Scoop." He teased her right back, waiting for Teagan to unlock the door. She pushed herself to her feet, which, unfortunately, were bare against the unwashed concrete. The door slid open, and Teagan ushered her out towards Nick.

"Thanks, Proctor." Nick kept a happy front with the Boston PD. Made it easier to bust her out, that way. He put a protectively, almost fatherly arm around her. Resting his hand on her shoulder.

"No problem, Valentine." Teagan smiled at him; she wanted to slap that smile right off his stupid face. 

"Come on, Piper. Let's go." Nick knew better than to talk about anything in the Boston Police Department. He led her out; out through the hustle and bustle that comes during a late night in the PD. She slogged after him like a zombie, dead tired, and dead beat. Her face, shoulders and wrists had begun to ache. She knew she was probably going to have a nasty shiner by morning; if she didn't already have one now. The moment they got outside Valentine pulled off his coat and draped it around her; her feet, wet from the pavement, carefully dancing around the concrete on the way to his car, careful to avoid anything sharp. He pulled the door open for her and she flung herself inside, shivering. He quickly plopped himself in the drivers seat, turning the engine on, and with it, the heat. Piper raised her hands over the vents of the car, offering a grateful shudder. 

"So how'd you know I was here?" Piper asked as Nick pulled out his phone from his back pocket. 

"Nat called. She was hysterical." He answered her, typing quickly on the keypad; his prosthetic hand tapping on the steering wheel. It was a nervous tick that came when half your body was wired to be mechanical. "Can't believe they'd drag you out like that; in front of your sister." He slid his phone back into his pocket, looking over at her. 

"Me neither. It all just- it went into bullet time." Piper sighed. She felt the cold metal of Nick's prosthetic fingers on her chin as he gently turned her head to face him.

"Gave you one hell of a shiner, too. Bastards." He muttered that last word lowly, letting her go. 

"Great. Now I'm gonna have to walk around explaining THAT to people all week." She sighed. "Who even paid my bail?" She knew Nick didn't make that much money with his 'detective agency', no matter how successful it was. 

"Do you even have to ask?" Valentine sighed. "Hancock, of course. Had to talk him out of storming down here himself like an enraged piece of fried chicken."

That got a chuckle out of her; which was probably Valentine's intention. 

"I promised to text him when I sprung you. He's posted a couple guys at your place to keep an eye on Nat; and you, too, I'm wagering. The guy knows how it feels to have the cops after your hide- only he has bodyguards." 

"He's a crime lord. Cops aren't the only people after him."

"True. But you're lucky I managed to talk him out of marching in there, THEN we'd have problems." Nick was silent a moment, looking at her in the dimly lit car. 

"Piper; I know I've been telling you for ages- but I'm gonna tell you again. You need to ease up with this 'journalism' thing you've got going on. I'm all for freedom of speech, freedom of press; but someone's gonna put a bullet in you someday, and neither me nor Hancock can fix death." His tone was adamant, like he was begging her to be more careful. Poor Nick; he should know better by now. 

"You can't put a bullet in the truth, Nick." She leaned back in her seat, wrapping the trench coat tightly around herself. 

"No," He sighed, switching his car into drive. "but they can sure as hell shoot the messenger." He pulled out of the police station parking lot; driving them both off into the neon lit silence of a Boston night.


	2. Gully Of Burnt Men

"Alright, alright. I think our friend here's had enough, Fahrenheit. Relax." Hancock sauntered into the room which, quite frankly, looked like it belonged in a SAW movie. The woman he was addressing was currently pulling a man's head down to get a closer look at the blade of her knife; or, it should be said, pulling up. The man had been hung upside down from the ceiling of the warehouse they were currently 'borrowing' for the purpose of this lovely interrogation. When she heard the mans 'request', she calmly released the captives head, taking a step back, sheathing her knife back into her belt. 

'Hancock' lived up to his name. He was dressed like his titular founding father, from his shoes to his hat- and in any other situation the schmuck hanging upside down would have found it hilarious. Anyone else would have; however, it was his face that gave one pause. Half his face was completely destroyed, seemingly burned; and his eyes appeared to have been doused in something akin to acid. He had hair, though whether or not it covered all of his head or had also been burned away was disguised by the tricorn he wore. His hair was ashen, pulled back into a loose ponytail; he looked like John Hancock himself had dug himself out of the grave and come to kick his ass. 

"Please- p-please let me down. Blood's rushing to my head, I can't feel my legs anymore!" The hanging man pleaded, as Hancock slowly approached, pacing around him like a vulture. 

"Ooooh, poor, poor you." Hancock mocked, dragging out his words. "While you're complaining about not being able to feel your fucking feet; three of my men are rotting in a goddamn sewer, like rats; and when I traced the crime back, I landed right on your doorstep. Is this just a coincidence? Did I nab the wrong guy? Are my sleuthing skills gettin' a bit rusty?" He squatted down in front of the man; eyes yellowing at the edges, his skin more sickening up close. "Or were you just the schmuck who pulled the trigger, huh? Tell me, I'm a decent guy. I'll understand." His last few words sounded genuine, but there was an edge to them that seemed sharper than the knife that had just been brandished in his face. 

The man sputtered, searching for the correct answer. "I- I-" The burned man waited patiently, as his associate fiddled with her knife. 

"If you need more time; I could leave while my friend here helps you formulate a reply." Hancock jerked his head towards Fahrenheit; the mans eyes widened in panic.

"N-no! Please, no! I'll tell you, I'll tell you!" The man begged, tripping over his own tongue. 

A grin spread across Hancock's face. "Smart. Now, tell me why three of my guys are lying face down in a gutter?" 

"It was- it-" Tears were welling in the mans eyes. "He's gonna kill me!" 

"Listen, friend- I don't think you should be worrying about 'possible' deaths when you have a very real and imminent one baring down on you right now. Answer. My. Question." He was obviously getting a little tired of the back and forth; but damn if he wasn't gonna get an answer. 

The hanging man bit his lip. "It. It was the Chief of Police. Arth- Arthur Maxson. H- he didn't come to me directly. I was passed along a message- sayin' where they'd be, and that I had to take 'em out. I didn't get much else- I didn't even know who they were- please oh god don't kill me! Please!" The man thrashed as Hancock's eyes glazed over. He should've known. Maxson had it in for him, and basically the entirety of 'Goodneighbor'. He figured it was partially because people had taken to calling on HIS boys for help instead of the cops; he was mad that a bunch of street thugs could do the cops job better than they could. Whatever the reason was, it didn't matter- three of his guys weren't going home tonight because the Chief of Police had hired this guy to kill them in cold blood. 

"Let him down." Hancock said flatly, standing up. 

"Oh, thank you, Hancock- thank you!" The man was a blubbering wreck as Hancock's men let him down from the giant chain that hung from the ceiling; the man himself turned around, absentmindedly lighting a cigarette. He could hear the man struggle as he went to his knees, unable to move his legs. 

"You know, the way things work around here, if you kill someone, someone's gotta get killed back." The burned man exhaled smoke from his mouth; the clouds wafting over his charred skin. "Blood-for-blood, you know? Now, sure, Maxson was the mastermind- you were just the gun he paid to put my guys down. Normally that'd be enough for me; and I'd just rough you up and send you on your way, find the fuckers that signed the death warrant, and put a bullet in them." He took another drag; letting the smoke waft up between his lips as he spoke. "However, like you said, you didn't even know who they were. What's to say someone won't slam some money on your desk and tell you to shoot up someone's house, someone's birthday? Someone who didn't know the risks of their job, someone who would just never see it coming." He could hear the man blubbering behind him. 

"I-I promise I won't ever-" 

"Sorry," Hancock cut him off, pulling a pistol out of the front of his pants, pointing it point blank at his head. "promises of a murderer just ain't worth anything." 

He pulled the trigger and the man crumpled. 

For a moment, there was nothing but the overbearing press of silence.

"Well, I could've done that." Fahrenheit said flatly, crossing her arms as she walked over to him; looking rather unimpressed with the dead body before them. 

"I don't like people doin' my dirtywork for me, especially when I can do it myself." He handed the gun to her; which she plucked from his grasp, tucking it in one of the inner pockets of her leather jacket. 

Hancock dropped his cigarette, stepping on it, grinding it into the concrete. "If you and your boys could handle the rest of this; that'd be appreciated. Got somethin' I need to check up on."

Fahrenheit raised an eyebrow, but merely watched as he walked from the room, pulling his phone out of his pocket. "What about Maxson?" She called.

"Leave him a little message. You're much better with paper threats than I am." 

He pushed himself through the heavy iron door of the dim warehouse, and stepped into the blinding sunlight of a Boston morning. He blinked down at his phone, as his eyes took a moment to adjust.

_Eight missed calls: Piper Wright_

' _Aw, great._ '

He'd felt it vibrating in his pocket the entire time he'd been in there- but he couldn't just pop out to take a phone call. There were unspoken rules for this typa shit. He swiped her name, pressing his phone to his good ear. He hoped it wasn't an emergency; because shit if it was they'd have to leave the poor bastard's body there and gun it to Diamond City- which was at least thirty minutes away- even with Fahrenheit's driving. 

A click.

"Hancock do people in Goodneighbor actually have phones for any disconcernable reasons? Because they sure as hell don't use em for the usual. You know? Calling and answering and such?" He silently exhaled. Well at least she wasn't in trouble. 

"Listen, Pipe- I, uh; sorry, I was busy." He knew Piper, and Nick, hated his line of 'work'- and would rather distance themselves from it as far as possible. He tried to keep their knowledge of what he did to a minimum; but there was only so much evading you could do when you were friends with a reporter and a detective. 

"You were on one of your 'jobs' again, weren't you?" Her voice dropped in energy almost immediately, a sigh rippling through his phone. He pressed his lips together, she didn't expect him to be honest, did she? 

"Oh, come on, Pipe Wrench. You really think I'd do that; in broad daylight, ignoring your calls?" He tried to play the 'guilt' card but that shit had never really flown with her. 

"One, yes. Two, your voice is still in your 'scary druglord' tone." She responded brusquely. 

"Didn't know I had a 'scary druglord' tone." Despite her scolding tone, he was mildly amused. 

"Yes. Your voice gets deeper, and you drag out your words. It's an intimidation tactic." She said matter-of-factly. He wondered how many other tones of voice he had, and was tempted to ask. "Whatever," She cut off his train of thought."Meet me at the Dugout Inn in thirty minutes. I've got something I need to talk to you about." 

Before he could even ask her what it was, she had hung up. 

\--

The Dugout Inn was what you'd get if you combined a sports bar and a dive- yet somehow it managed to be one of the more pleasant places in the lower end of Diamond City. The place was run by two brothers; Vadim and Yefim, and the only real way to tell them apart was Yefim's surly disposition, and Vadim's fondness for the sound of his own voice. Yefim handled the hotel aspect, which Hancock supposed suited his personality just fine; while Vadim handled the bar; chatting up delirious drunks and talking them into buying more. 

Pushing through the door, Hancock walked out of the bright light of a sweltering Commonwealth morning into the dark, cave like atmosphere of the bar. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust, once again, as he scanned for Piper; though she was hard to miss, clad in her signature red trench coat. She was sitting alone at a table by the bar, looking mesmerized by a Boston Red Sox game that was playing on one of the bars many televisions. He sauntered up to her, a small smirk on his face. 

"Why, hello there, Oliver Twist." His attempt at stealth apparently didn't work on her all too well, anymore; as she calmly looked back over at him with a grin. 

"What's up, Scarface?" Their nicknames for each other were fitting, and Hancock, despite the surprise of their mutual acquaintances, didn't mind being branded 'Scarface' at all. He slid into a chair, leaning back in his seat. 

"So, whats little miss reporter wanna talk to me about, huh?" His curiosity was getting the better of him, though knowing Piper; it was probably another idea for a story. 

She grinned almost wickedly, leaning across the table, her hands braced on the edge. With his interest piqued, he leaned in as well, making it look like they were discussing something of utmost importance. 

"You've heard of 'The Institute', right?" 

Oh no, not this again. 

"Who hasn't?" Hancock leaned back; he'd hear her out, rather than dismiss the conversation- but he knew exactly what she wanted to talk about, at this point. 

Piper wiggled in her chair, she was excited; he didn't want to crush her enthusiasm. "What do you know?" 

Hancock tilted his head back slightly. "Same as everyone else. I know they're the fucking boogeyman, and I know they're out to screw the little guy in every conceivable way." 

"Aaaand they're behind the political corruption in Boston?" She added the sentence hopefully. 

He shrugged. "Could be, but I personally don't think so." 

Piper gave a comical scowl. "Oh come ON, Hancock! Mayor McDonough obviously has something to do with the institute! Why else would he herd everyone who could say anything against him into Goodneighbor and the outer districts?" 

He chewed on his tongue. "Politicians are jackboots. What do you want me to say?" 

She sighed, obviously rerouting her train of thought. "I want you to say you'll help me." 

This made him raise an eyebrow. "Help you? Little miss reporter and the problem sleuth can't figure whatever this is out on their own?" 

She waved her hand as if to dissipate the thought from the air. "No, no. I know your men are everywhere, I know they see things. I just need one- one TINY trace of the institute tampering in the affairs of the commonwealth, just a minute speckle for my next article! I just need to give people something to think about!" 

She was so enthusiastic about this; she was miming a tiny speck of dust between her fingers. He had to chuckle at that. "Alright, alright Oliver Twist; I'll tell my boys to be on the lookout." It occurred to him she hadn't exactly told him what his boys would be looking for. "Uh- but on the lookout for what, exactly?" 

Her grin was a bit too wicked for his liking. "Well, rumor has it that the institute might have an eye on your end of town." 

"My end? Goodneighbor?" Why something like 'The Institute' would have any interest in his little shantytown was beyond him. 

"Yepp. There have been reports; merely testaments, of course, of the Institute snooping around, like they're looking for something." She took a moment to build suspense. "Or someONE."

"Uh..... _huh._ " Hancock narrowed his eyes; this sounded like bullshit to him. But hell, he'd humor her. "Alright, Oliver Twist, I'll tell my boys to keep their eyes open." 

She beamed. "Yes! I knew you'd help." She gave a small fist pump. 

"Well I ca-" He felt a boorish arm grip around his shoulder. 

"'ANCOCK; good to see you, my friend!" Vadim, of course. He was always overly friendly with the customers, not that most minded. Hancock had gotten used to people being 'overly friendly' with him; but as long as their intentions were just that, he didn't mind it. 

"Hey, Vadim. What's good in Diamond City?" He slung his skinny arm around the Russian's shoulder, letting the larger man jostle him in overenergetic affection. 

"Feh- nothing good in Diamond City. Exception is strong liquor and good company." He tilted his head towards Piper with a smile and she raised her beer with a smirk. "How goes things in Goodneighbor, eh?" 

"Never short of excitement, and I'm gonna leave it at that." He spoke of it fondly, though he couldn't go into detail due to the fact that Piper would most likely kick him under the table.

"Ah, yes. Full of excitement!" He slapped Hancock a little too hard on the back, almost knocking him from his chair. "Must get back to work, but I shall be seeing you around, yes?" 

He nodded, coughing a little from the slap. "You couldn’t keep me away if you tried." 

This, apparently, pleased the bartender, as he bounced off with an even larger grin on his face.

"Okay, but there has got to be a story there." Piper looked at him with one eyebrow raised; he knew she was already wondering how they even knew each other.

He smirked, leaning one arm on the table. "I've got more interesting ones to tell." 

\-- 

A rapterious sigh escaped Hancock's lips after his third hit, reclining further into the couch; his scrawny build almost completely entrenched in the dark and stained fabric.

"Seems like someone's had a long day," Fahrenheit. She plucked the blunt from his hand before he could raise it to his lips again. "Though I'd appreciate it if you didn't make yourself sick this time."

He chuckled, lazily grinning up at her. " _Hheeey_ , it was one time. Cut me some slack." 

"Once is enough, thank you." She walked around to plop herself down on the couch across from him, kicking her feet up on the dilapidated coffee table- riddled with drugs and knife marks.

"How'd the cleanup go?" He tilted his hat up so he could see her; like him, she also had burn scars, only hers were much less noticeable. The scorch mark that ran across her cheek and along the side of her head, necessitating her undercut, were the only real scars one could discern. 

"Eh, not too bad. Couple of the boys suggested we put his head on a pike and stick it in Maxson's front yard. Had to tell 'em we're a bit more graceful than that." 

Hancock barked out a laugh, reeling slightly in his seat. "Aw shit, the look on that prick's face woulda been priceless, though." He could just imagine the expression of comical rage on the muscle-bound shitheads face; he'd be riding out that image for a while. "But yeah, we're a bit classier than that. We're not cold blooded monsters- 'spite what the cops keep broadcasting. What _did_ you do with the guys body though?" 

The woman shrugged. "The usual. Cut him up, dumped him in the Boston Harbor. 'N don't gimme that look. No one can trace it back; even if they could they'd be too afraid to say a damn thing." 

He cocked an eyebrow skeptically. "What about Maxson?" 

"Oh, as for our lovely Dickhole-In-Chief; I left a lovely fruit basket on his doorstep, with a lovely little letter that might make him think twice about messing around in our side of town." She said this all with a proud smirk, raising a cigarette to her lips like a celebratory beer. 

"Atta girl." Hancock grinned, resting his elbow on his knee. "Ain't no one better with paper threats in the entire 'wealth. That's for damn sure." 

"I do try."

"But I'd keep our boys on the lookout, tonight. Maxson's a kid. Doesn't know how to handle being one upped." He looked back over at the window, dirty, dingy; looking out on the neon lit streets. He could see the graffiti on the cities dilapidated brick walls, riddling the alleyways like some strangled war cry- ' _The Burned Man Walks!_ '; he was an urban legend, he used the reputation and cautious fear it allotted him well. His 'urban legend' status was also one of the reasons that Maxson was so hell bent on nabbing him. If he could pin one of the urban legends of the Commonwealth, the people would have to respect him- or at least fear him. At least that's what he thought."That job might have been his first move this time around, but I doubt it's gonna be his last."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally published this. I chose to have Hancock's 'ghoul' status be represented in the modern day by burn scars; which will be explained later. I also gave him some 'Urban Legend' cred a 'la Joshua Graham; since the whole 'burned man' legend was really interesting and the idea of making it into a modern myth was too much for me to resist. Hancock isn't the only urban legend we'll meet in this modern AU, as you'll see in the next chapter (When I finally get around to it?).


	3. At A Minute's Notice

"Preston! Preston, wake up! Get off your ass!" 

'BZZRT, BZZRT, BZZRT' 

"Marcy, relax- you don't need to wake him up, we could just-" 

'BZZRT, BZZRT, BZZRT' 

"No, he's supposed to be up by now but he's just laying around. The sink's clogged and it's about to overflow!" 

'BZZRT, BZZRT, BZZRT' 

"We could fix it ourselves, for once, may-" 

'BZZRT, BZZRT, BZZRT' 

"Could you be on my side about something for once? I swear it's like you don't have a spine!" 

'BZZRT, BZZ'-thunk 

The large lump on the bed groaned, having forcibly silenced his alarm clock. The beds inhabitant, Preston, rolled onto his back, rubbing his eyes with the palms of his hands. 

Start to another exciting day, it seemed. 

He reluctantly pulled the warm comforter off his body, lurching his legs off the side of the bed as his bare feet made contact with the cold floor. He blinked at the light streaming in from the window, which was now shining directly in his eyes as he sat up. Stretching out his back, he looked over at the clock. 

8:30 AM 

It was a later start than he usually had, but it was a Saturday- 

No. Saturday's were for kids. He couldn't afford the luxury of sleeping in. 

With the that hammered into his mind, he lurched himself up and onto his feet, swaggering with unsteady steps over to his closet. He absentmindedly pulled out clothes that he thought would match. It was relatively easy; it was full of neutral colors, warm browns, heathered greys, calming off-whites, soft blacks. It was made to not attract the eye, or any unnecessary attention, just the way Preston liked it. He quickly changed, struggling into his pants as he listened to the faint sound of Marcy long arguing with her husband; well, arguing was a bit of a stretch. Marcy pretty much just complained at her husband, which he was generally unbothered by. She managed to keep a reign on her mouth around Preston, seeing how she was living generally rent free in his house. He probably wouldn't do anything about it even if she didn't; he knew she had a hard life, and he was accustomed to getting yelled at by people with no grasp on what they were talking about. 

Bracing himself for whatever fresh problem was going to be thrown at him today with excessive levels of drama, he opened the door to his bedroom, making his way downstairs. As he was about halfway down the steps he heard the familiar trill of Marcy Long's voice. 

"Ah, finally! Look who it is!" 

Looking out at the living room he saw Jun Long slumped over, defeated on the couch in front of a standing Marcy, who had her hands defiantly on her hips, a scowl on her face. Mama Murphy, the fourth member of their odd living arrangement, was sitting in her usual chair, ignoring whatever was going on between the Long's; however, at the sound of his name she looked up with a lazy smile. 

"Mornin' Preston." 

"G'mornin, Mama Murphy." He couldn't help but crack a smile at her; but Marcy's urgent snapping quickly brought him back down. 

"Hel-lo? Standing right here!" She muttered impatiently. "The sink's clogged. It's been close to overflowing for an hour now! Jun has been having to displace the water with a cup." 

Preston didn't even say anything, he merely gingerly walked over to the sink, ignoring Marcy's yelling. He flicked a switch, hidden behind the coffee maker, and a deafening whirring came from the sink. The water quickly began to sink down the drain, prompting Preston to flick the switch off. He turned to see a shocked, but still angry, Marcy and a surprised and ashamed Jun. 

"Garbage disposal." He said matter-of-factly, walking back towards the door, plucking his boots off the ground, sitting on the stairs to put them on.

"And what? You're leaving now?" Marcy's hands were once again on her hips as he tightened his laces. 

"Yepp. Got a job to do, no one else's gonna do it for me." He was surprised at the snideness of his comment, he hadn't meant it that way, but thankfully she didn't notice it. 

"Whatever, just make sure you don't come in at one in the morning again." 

"Can't make any promises Marcy." 

Before she could make any more complaints he was out the door with a squeak and a slam, his coat tucked under his arm as he ventured out into the brisk morning air, he lazily put his hat on his head; his signature atricle of clothing. 

"Morning, Preston!" He looked to his left to see Mrs. Leighe with her two kids, ushering them out the door. 

"Good-mornin' Mr. Garvey!" Came the yelps of the two over-excited youngsters. He tipped his hat with a warm smile. 

"And good morning to you too, Mrs. Leighe- Where are you kids off to?" He approached the fence, pulling his heavy cotton jacket on over his shoulders. The two children, Alexis and Joshua scurried over to the fence to greet him. 

"We're off to a baseball game!" Alexis was the one to answer him, with her dark braided hair and wide eyed enthusiasm.

"Oh?" Preston didn't drop his smile for a moment, raising an eyebrow. "And who's playing?" 

"Us!" It was Joshua who answered him, this time. 

"Yeah! Joshua's the catcher, I'm the pitcher! You should come see us play, Preston!" Alexis piped up again. 

"Wish I could, guys- But I've got work today." He reached his hand over the fence to flick the little girls scarf back over her sagging shoulders. 

"You've got work every day!" She sighed in disappointment. 

"I know, I know. Don't like it anymore than you, but somebody's got to do what I do- and as I've always said-" 

"'Don't trust anyone to do a job you're not willing to do yourself.'" They both groaned with lackluster enthusiasm, prompting a chuckle from their mother.

"That's right. Now don't think I won't be rooting for you from behind the sidelines. What time's your game?" 

"It starts at noon." Joshua dug the toe of his shoe into the dirt, looking down at his feet. 

"Well then, I'll be cheering for you from behind my desk. You can count on it." This seemed to cheer them up a little. 

"Alright, kids, I'm sure Preston has to get going. Say goodbye." Mrs. Leighe began to shepherd them back over to her car. 

"G'bye Preston!" They called over the pitter patter of their small feet hitting the concrete. He gave a little wave as they ushered inside the minivan. The woman offered him a wave from behind the wheel as she situated herself in her car. He waited until they drove off to finally walk out onto the sidewalk, closing the gate behind him. 

\- 

Pushing open the door to the small, stony building, Preston was greeted by the usual tinkle of bells. 

"Now I know the only person who could walk in here without being preceded by screaming is the one, the only, Preston Garvey." The southern drawl that greeted him was a welcome addition to the morning. The tall, muscular and oh so distinctly southern figure of Sturges rounded the corner as he entered. 

"Mornin', Sturges." Preston tipped his hat slightly and smiled. The man in question was currently using a ratty bandana to wipe grease from his hands. It worked to varying degrees of success, as Preston was sure his hands had been stained by the oily black substance a long time ago. He pushed a stray strand of sweaty black hair from his face, and back into his greaser style pompadour. 

"Now put this one in the books, kids- I, Sturges Berkley, got to the office before our very own personal alarm clock Preston fricking Garvey. I'm gonna have to take a picture, else no one'll believe me," He jokingly patted his back pockets. "Oh, but would y'look at that. Forgot my phone." 

Preston played along. "Oh, don't worry, I'll vouch for you." 

"Yeah, like I couldn't get you to say you saw a pig flying down the street shitting fire if I asked you nicely enough." The man nudged him playfully in the shoulder with one of his cleaner fingers. Preston chuckled, slapping his hand away; and he noticed someone missing in the office. 

"Where's Curie? I don't see her." Usually one could tell Curie was there by the sound of her feminine french accent and her inclination to sing along to the radio, which she always left on. 

Sturges scratched his head, looking at her usual seat behind the front desk, which now lay empty. "Your guess is as good as mine. Texted me this morning and said she had to do something for a friend before she came in this morning." 

"A friend?" Preston didn't want to sound like an asshole, but the idea of Curie having many 'friends' came as a surprise to him. 

"Yeah, I know right? She said she'd be in around noon, and if anyone comes in needing any immediate help to call her. So she must not be too far away." 

"Well, I suppose we could hold down the fort while she's away." He sighed. 

"Oho, you mean me, tough guy? You gotta get out there. Just because Curie ain't here doesn't mean I won't be able to radio you from the call center." 

"I know, I know- it's a metaphor, Sturges." Preston really liked working the streets better than sitting behind a desk and taking complaints. He was more of a man of action than words. 

"Better be. I sure as hell couldn't take up your job if you decided to go soft on me. Too many bullets; plus momma always told me I don't work well under pressure." He tucked his greasy bandana into his back pocket. "Anyway, want some coffee before you head out? I know Marcy was probably blasting your eardrums out this morning and you ran out the door as fast as you could." 

Preston nodded sheepishly. 

"Well don't worry, your pal Sturges here makes the best instant coffee that his meager salary can buy." Sturges snapped his fingers into a gun shape, clicking his tongue as he disappeared into the back room. As soon as he was gone, Preston melted into one of the lumpy armchairs in the waiting room; stained with what seemed to be blood- or diarrhea. Both very real possibilities in his line of work. He didn't bother taking his coat or hat off, he knew as soon as Sturges came back with his cup of coffee he'd have to be on his way. 

As much as he loved helping people with the Minutemen, patrols were never easy for him. In fact, they kind of sucked, but if it made the neighborhood a bit safer, he'd do it without complaint. Though his bullet wounds from his last violent run in had just recently healed, and he wasn't too keen on reliving the feeling of being shot twice in the ribs. 

"Well, cowboy," Sturges came back into the room quick enough to cut him off mid thought. "Looks like you're gonna have to take a rain check on that coffee- someone's holding up Myrna's store. Armed. One gunman." 

Sturges listed off the details before Preston could ask. They had done this many times before. Preston immediately pushed himself up from the chair, jolting for the door. 

"Woah, wait-" He stopped, turning back to Sturges, catching the leather holster that was tossed at him. "Hope you don't have to use it." 

\-- 

"Give me the money in the fucking register or I swear to god-" 

"Myrna, just give him the money!" Preston heard the plea of another person trapped inside. 

"No! This is my entire months earnings and I'm not just gonna give it to some low life scum." 

"What the FUCK did you just call me?" Preston wanted to duck tape the womans mouth shut, did she even care that her life was on the line. 

"Scum. You need me to spell it out for you? S-C-U-M-" 

"I'll fucking put a bullet right in that fucking mouth of yours-" 

He had heard enough, if he didn't act now Myrna would probably end up full of holes. 

"Alright, let's just calm down-" The gun went from being pointed at Myrna, to being pointed at him. 

"And who the fuck're you!?" 

"Preston Garvey, I'm with the Minutemen-" 

"That fucking neighorhood watch bullshit? Fuck, at least they didn't send the cops." 

"Listen, man, you don't have to do this. You can put the gun down and we can all walk away from this in one piece." Preston raised his hands placatingly, trying to talk the man down. He'd rather nobody get shot today. 

"Like hell! He's rotting in jail for shoving a gun in MY face-" Myrna, of course, had to interject. The gun once again traveled from Preston to her. 

"Myrna. Please. I don't say this lightly- but shut the HELL up." He didn't know if it was the firmness of his voice, or the face that he actually swore at her, but her jaw screwed shut, and she glared at him in anger. "Thank you." 

The gun was once again pointed at him. 

"Don't act like I'm stupid, I know I'm not walking away from this without going to jail. All I want is the money, and I'll be gone- and if this bitch doesn't give it to me, she'll end up with a few more holes." The kid was panicked, on edge, he could've been on something but Preston couldn't know for sure. 

"And is that money really worth someones life?" He tried to appeal to the boys better nature. 

"NO! I keep trying to get this bitch to hand over the money peaceful like and she keeps going on about SCUM and over 'HER DEAD BODY'- so hell, I might just have to get it over her DEAD FUCKING BODY." He angrily jostled the gun in Myrna's face. He was on a break, his finger jostled on the trigger. 

Preston took a step forward. "Listen-" 

The boy whipped the gun back at him, and opened fire. Preston took this as an opening. He grabbed the boys arm, twisting it until he let go of the gun- before taking the boy down to the floor, pinning his arms behind his back. The boy cried out in pain as Preston muttered an apology. Once the boy was subdued underneath him, he pulled the radio out from his jacket. 

"Hey Sturges, I'm bringing one in." 

"I heard gunshots over here, you alright?" 

"Yeah," Preston looked down at the new tear in his coat. "Don't worry about it." 

\-- 

"Kid's alright. Think he was hopped up on that new drug 'Pshyco' or whatever the junkies are calling it nowadays." Sturges hunkered down next to him, pressing the warm cup of coffee into his hands. "Glad you resolved it with no one getting hurt." 

"'Victory always falls to the quicker man'." Preston exhaled, pressing the warm cup to his lips. 

"You got those cat like reflexes, man. You could be one of those Bond types, with pretty girls hanging all over you." 

That got a chuckle out of him. "Not as much of a ladykiller as you think, Sturges." 

"That's because you never pay attention to the prospective ladies- or gentlemen, for that matter." 

"Because there are more important things to focus on," He took a sip of the bitter, watery coffee before looking over at the other man playfully. "Are you hitting on me Sturges?" 

"Me? No. I like my life partners with a bit less risk in their jobs. I'd like a longer life expectancy, if you catch my meanin'." Sturges laughed, leaning back in his chair. 

Preston slapped him jovially on the shoulder. "Don't worry, I'd feel the same way." 

Before their conversation could continue, the door opened with a loud 'crash'. Normally, this would cause both men to leap from their chairs in alarm; but the crash was accompanied by frantic phrases spoken in hurried French. 

"Oh, Monsieur Sturges, I am so sorry I am late! I told you noon and here I am at-" Curie, behind all her bags, with frazzled hair and skewed glasses, managed to look at her flowery watch. "Twelve thirty! Oh I'm so sorry. I shall make it up to you, I promise!" 

"Curie, Curie, relax, girl, relaaax." Sturges chuckled, trying to calm her down, raising his hands as he stood to help her with her bags. 

"It was just an emergency and he really needed my assistance and it couldn't wait and I had to-" Her eyes fell upon Preston, finally. "Oh! 'Ello monsieur Preston; good morning to you." Her face reddened, she seemed embarrassed that he saw her in a tizzy. Curie was infinitely closer to Sturges than she was to him, since they worked together so much; so she was probably more comfortable with him seeing her like this than Preston. 

"Good morning to you too, Curie." He didn't feel like correcting her and rubbing salt in her imaginary wound. 

"A-as I was saying." She turned back to Sturges, who had relieved her of most of her baggage and dropped it off behind her desk. 

"You don't gotta explain nothin', Curie." Sturges gently clapped a hand on her shoulder. "You volunteer here, ain't your job. We're glad you come in at all." 

This seemed to give her a wave of relief, as her tense form melted, ever so slightly as she began to brush her hair down. 

"But, uh- me and Preston were wonderin', who's this friend of yours? It's obviously a 'he'-" The color and peace faded from her face as he asked this.

"O-oh, it is nothing! At all! Do not worry! It is a friend from- from- college, yes! He just needed me to uh- water his dog! That is it!" Curie quickly moved herself away from Sturges to behind the desk, rifling through her bags. She was a genius, but a terrible liar. 

"Uh-huh." Sturges apparently decided to not give her a hard time about it. "Well, I hope his uh- dog is alright." 

"Oh it is! Very happy! Woof woof!" 

Preston and Sturges looked at each other, confused, but choosing to accept Curie's lie. They weren't going to pry into her personal life. But they were surprised at the implications. Curie might have a boyfriend? That, or a drug dealer. They were having a hard time deciding which instance was more unlikely. 

"Uh, anyway Curie. We got a kid in back, he's coming down hard from some Pshyco. Think you could fix him up?" 

"Of course!" She perked right up at the idea that she could get away from the two skeptical men. She quickly snatched her medical bag up and disappeared into the back room. 

The two stared blankly at the doorway that she had just disappeared in.

"So-" Preston started, looking blankly at his companion. 

"Honestly? I don't even wanna think about it." 

"Fair enough."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry this took me so long to put up! I haven't really been motivated to write much these past few weeks, but I hope you all enjoy this latest chapter starring everyone's favorite Minuteman!

**Author's Note:**

> Hoo boy! So this is the first installment of my modern AU. I felt it fitting to introduce Piper first; she's the scrappy heroine we all know and love. I want to write this as a multi solo ship. So I'll probably write this as the base fic, and do different spin offs for different pairings.  
> Not too sure yet.  
> But for now, I hope you all enjoy it!


End file.
